


A Place For The Wicked To Go

by basketcasewrites



Series: Fictober 2018 [16]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Universe, Domestic Boyfriends, Halloween Costumes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketcasewrites/pseuds/basketcasewrites
Summary: "I'm thinking, later, we should go to this costume store I stopped by yesterday." A peck of lips to the curve of Wade's neck. "Shop around. Get some ideas for what we'll be for Harry's party."Wade snorts under his breath. "I already know what I'm gonna be.""What?" Peter asks, curiosity in each flat letter of that one word."Something slutty." A shrug. "Maybe a vampire."(prompts 23 & 24 of  myfictober prompts list: vampires & costume)





	A Place For The Wicked To Go

**Author's Note:**

> ↳ title: ghost town — monster

Sunflower fields and wind, that is what Peter smells like when he swings into the room. Through the window left ajar, he enters with orange light and the tweeting of birds.

Peter lands deftly, his movements silent and practiced.

Darkness and light filter through thin curtains, midnight and early morning meeting together in a dreamy haze. Wade smiles to himself, breathes in the muted scent of Peter that dances around the room.

"I'm up," Wade says quietly. The blankets rustle as he moves, twists in the bed.

The mask lies discarded on the floor, thrown haphazardly. And Peter's hair, free of the clinging spandex, is a mess of brown curls; a halo, loose tendrils hanging in his just-as-deep brown eyes.

A hum under his breath, hands curl at the hem of the costume's shirt. "I know." Peter lets out a stop chuckle. "You snore like a truck driver."

"How d'you know what truck driver snores sound like?"

He peels his costume from his skin. His voice when he next speaks, material briefly covering his face, is muffled. "You're not the first man I've ever been with, Wilson."

Wade drags his eyes down the length of Peter's body. Relishes in the reveal of each inch of skin as first the top is dropped, and then the tights; adores the light forest of scars that travel his body from one too many fights.

A beauty, Wade knows.

The remark is acknowledged with a small smirk, a roll of the eyes. Light frames Peter in shadow, casts him a in golden-lined silhouette— words escape Wade then. Struck by awe, he stays silent.

Peter slips into the bed, into the shape he had left in the bed, into the spaces in and around Wade only he can occupy.  
Beneath the sunflower-sunrise-sun scent of him, Peter smells like the sweat which clings to him like dew on leaves. He needs a shower. Wade doesn't care.

"So," Peter begins. His mouth by Wade's ear, breath as warm as the arms in which Wade is encircled. "It's almost Halloween."

"Mm..."

"I'm thinking, later, we should go to this costume store I stopped by yesterday." A peck of lips to the curve of Wade's neck. "Shop around. Get some ideas for what we'll be for Harry's party."

Wade snorts under his breath. "I already know what I'm gonna be."

"What?" Peter asks, curiosity in each flat letter of that one word.

"Something slutty." A shrug. "Maybe a vampire."

✴️

A phone ringing at noon is what wakes them. A booming, accented voice; a wrong number.

Light coats and scarves wrapped around necks as they slip from their apartment, into a street bustling with people heading to and away from work, from school, from nothing at all.  
They blend in. And Wade loves nothing more than to blend in; to be just another guy, holding hands with the love of his life and going for a stroll.

The costume store sits on a corner. Too new to have put up a sign, the space above the entrance stands awkwardly blank.

"Here?" he asks. His answer is a tug on his arm, a pull into the store.

The first thing Wade notices the moment he steps through the front door is the colour. Masks and painted chains hang from the ceiling, peacock feathers and feather boas tangle around racks and hangers, racks upon racks of clothes cram into the expanse of space.

Peter nods. "Here," he answers.

"Good afternoon, dears," a kindly woman greets, manoeuvring the racks with ease, "How may I help you today?"

"We're just looking around," Peter says. On an airy laugh, he continues, "I guess we started Halloween shopping a bit late this year."

Her name tag is discreet. Maureen, it reads.

She brushes Peter off with a wave of her hand. "Better late than never, I always say," Maureen lowers her voice, as if sharing a conspiratorial piece of information with Wade and Peter. When she continues, her voice is bright. "Browse around. If you need anything come find me."

A rack of short dresses, each shinier and more sequined than the last, catches Wade's eye. It is almost exactly what he was hoping to find; a better place than any other to begin.

  
Three hours. The next time Peter checks the time he coughs, chokes on air and draws a smile from Wade.

The costumes bury the racks and seems to stretch infinitely, into a strange oblivion. It is easier to lose themselves in the moment than either man had expected.

Three hours. "Okay," Peter says, complete costumes and pieces of others in his arms or trailing at his feet, "I'm ready to try some of these on and go home."

Wade pops his head around the dressing room door. His clothes are haphazard piles around him. "Just one more minute," he insists, and disappears behind the door.

"I saw some of the things you took, Wade. Like glorified pieces of string— Why are you _taking so long_?"

The door creaks open. Slowly. Slightly ominous.

A hand clutches at the inside of a velveteen cape, an arm extends beyond the wooden door.

Peter stifles a laugh at the theatrics of the moment. Exhausted, but still Wade manages to bring a smile to his lips.

"Stop whining—" Wade says. "Are you ready?"

"I don't think so. But go ahead, come out."

The cape flaps once, the door pushes the rest of the way open.  
Barefoot but for the black socks that meet at the swell of his thigh, Wade crosses the threshold back into the store.

An intake of breath, sharp and beyond Peter's control sounds out around them.  
A stuttered inhale.

"What d'you think?" Wade lets the cape drop from his hold— deep shades of purple fall against his pink-white-red scarred skin, it brushes against his ankles. Of everything be wears, it covers him the most. He turns in a slow circle. "Hm?"

Tiny shorts accompany the cape, held in place by a gold chain around Wade's neck. A strip of fabric, they sit low on his hips and somehow manage to stay in place without falling to touch the floor.  
A waistcoat over a bare torso, its golden buttons gleaming in the too bright light. Ruffled cuffs on his wrists.

Wade is a sight of luxury in almost entirely shades of rich purple— all, but for the cuffs, is grape and burgundy and mauve.

Whatever he has decided to dress as— an obscure royal, a mysterious count, a vampire— he is the most provocative one Peter has ever seen. The sexiest, undoubtedly.

"Fuck," Peter utters on an exhale of breath. "What—" throat dry, he swallows, continues, " _What_ exactly are you dressed as?"

" _Oh_ , you're getting horny. You wanna touch me." Wade starts in a teasing sing-song. He dodges a half-hearted jab from Peter's elbow, his arms too full to really swat Wade away.

"I'm just asking, Wade. I don't know if I want to co-ordinate costumes anymore."

"C'mon," Wade wheedles. "The only thing better than _one_ slutty vampire dude is _two_ slutty vampire dudes."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see how I procrastinate, shoot me some asks or just hang out, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shuriidyke)


End file.
